Why Do You Love Me?

Response to Reviews:

Bookworm51485: Actually, I rather liked your suggestions. Those are fine ideas! I don’t know if I’ll use them exactly, but if it’s all right with you, I think I may have them influence the fic a bit. I hope that you continue to leave reviews like the one you left just now; they’re very inspiring, and I love people that take the time to leave long reviews like yours. I also agree with you about the “if you supposedly know a person so well, you should know when they aren't acting normal,” thing. But we’ve got to remember that these people haven’t seen Harry at all ever since summer started; people change, and Harry is no exception. And by the way, would you mind telling me the title of this fic that you’re beta’ing? It sounds quite interesting!

Alexander: I’m sorry that Harry seemed to be too happy to you this time. That most definitely was not the way I wanted him to be portrayed; he’s not happy, he’s just numb, that’s all. I do know the way rape victims react to people afterwards, but I’m glad that you’ve reminded me. I don’t want Harry to be too different from a normal rape victim, but at the same time, I’d like for the reader to remember that this is Harry Potter we’re dealing with; nothing is normal! Now on to the thing about Hermione. She and Ron have just discovered their mutual feelings for one another, and have taken it upon themselves to further explore the possibilities of their newfound relationship. They have hardly had any time for Harry, and therefore, Hermione was not really thinking much about Harry’s letter to her. Let’s just say that a bit of Ron’s stubbornness has rubbed off on her, shall we?

Kimberly: I’m glad you didn’t knock it before you tried it! There have been some fics out there that I didn’t think that I would like, but once I read them, they weren’t really that bad! So I’m thankful for you giving me a chance.

Thank you to all others who have reviewed (The list is becoming immensely large; I can’t list you all, so I’d just like to give a HUGE thank you to EVERYONE who’s read and/or reviewed this fic).

Harry stared idly at the quickly passing scenery, but wasn’t really seeing it as they quickly flew over. He was too busy contemplating how long his glamour would last; he had cast a rather strong one. And he never had paid much attention in Transfigurations, not with Ron always sitting by him. Of course, he knew that he had much bigger things to worry about at the moment, but right now, it felt nice to only think about the small things.

Arthur kept glancing over at Harry worriedly, his brow furrowed in thought. Harry had been rather silent for the entirety of the trip; it was very different from his usually chatty demeanor. “Harry, are you all right?” He asked pointedly, a brow raised slightly in question as he stared straight ahead through the windshield, with his hands clamped tightly to the steering wheel. The car didn’t really require much driving, though, as it was doing just fine driving itself to their destination.

“Hmm?” Harry glanced over at Arthur, his expression blank.

“I asked if you were all right.”

“Oh,” Harry’s brow furrowed as though it took a lot of concentration for him to figure out an answer to such a simple question. “Yes,” He said finally, though his eyes were looking anywhere but at Arthur. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Arthur attempted eye contact, and when it failed for the third time, he sighed and looked back through the windshield.

“Yeah,” Harry looked out his window again, and was silent for the rest of the trip. Arthur continued to glance worriedly at Harry, and by the time the car finally landed, Arthur was sure he could see something white but soaked with some type of crimson substance wrapped snuggly around Harry‘s head. When Arthur glanced again, though, Harry’s forehead was as it normally was; white-object-less and scarred.

“Well,” Arthur broke the uncomfortable silence after a few moments. “We’re here.”

Harry continued to glare out his window. Arthur examined him for a few moments, then reached out to shake his shoulder lightly. Harry flinched away, and Arthur looked at him questioningly. “Ready to go, Harry?”

Harry blinked somewhat dazedly, then nodded. He opened his car door, and seconds after he had stepped out, he was mauled by a bushy-haired creature which had immediately sprung itself into his arms and wrapped itself around him. Harry’s eyes flooded with panic, but he pushed it down and stood stiffly in the embrace that had been forced upon him. “Oh, Harry!” Came the muffled cry from his shoulder. “I know I just saw you a couple of days ago, but I’ve missed you so much it’s not even funny!” Hermione exclaimed, burying her head into the crook of his neck. Harry could feel the hot tears spilling from her eyes and onto his throat, but didn’t say anything.

Ron eyed him jealously from a few yards away, and when Hermione finally pulled away, he was the one who launched himself at Harry. “Harry! How’ve you been, mate?”

Harry stood stiffly in Ron’s embrace as well, flinching slightly when Ron pounded him roughly on the back and hit the place where Vernon had delivered a final blow before Harry’s departure. Arthur swooped in then and yanked Ron away. “Not so rough, Ronald! Harry’s got quite the bruise by now, I’m sure.”

Harry backed a few paces away from Arthur, Hermione and Ron, and stood with his back to the car as Hermione shot him a questioning gaze. “What do you mean?” She asked accusingly, probably suspecting the worst of him.

Arthur looked between Harry and Hermione in silence for a few moments, before pulling Harry towards him by the shoulder. He slung his arm across Harry’s shoulders, then grinned brightly at the teens staring suspiciously at them. “Well, Mr. Dursley seemed quite put off today. I suppose he was rather thankful that Harry’s leaving, although I couldn’t possibly fathom why.”

Hermione’s eyes widened considerably as the letter that had been written to her previously entered her mind for the first time since she had read it, quickly scribbled out a response, and stuck it into the bottom of her trunk, never to see daylight again. “What do you mean?” She asked again. “What did he do?”

“He hit Harry’s shoulder, actually,” Arthur responded, as though they were talking about the weather. Then he smiled down proudly at Harry. “Well it was actually more of a punch but…well…it seems like it would hurt to me, but Harry said that he was fine. You are fine, aren’t you Harry?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harry and Harry averted his. “Yeah,” He said weakly. “Just fine. Actually, I’ve been pretty bored lately.” He looked over to Ron, hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing slightly as he slowly wormed his way away from Arthur. “Would you fancy a game of Wizard’s Chess?”

Ron’s eyes lit up at the prospect of beating Harry into the ground, and he grinned madly. “Of course!” He said, turning and sprinting towards his tall, slightly lopsided home. “Be back in a sec.”

Hermione and Harry stood alone close to the car, as Arthur jammed his hands into his pockets and ambled up the walk after Ron. “Have fun, you two.” He called with a smile, raising one hand to wave briefly before jamming it back into his pocket and disappearing into the Burrow.

Hermione turned on Harry the moment the two red-heads were out of view. “Your uncle attacked you? Harry, I know you say you’re all right, but you’d say you were all right even if one of your arms were nearly falling off, your nose was broken,” Harry flinched slightly at the thought of a broken nose, his hand going up to finger his own nose which was still mending from the breaking of it before; thank goodness for the glamour covering up the fact that he still had a nasty-looking swell right on the bridge of his nose, though it had healed considerably since the last time he had looked. “And you were missing three fingers. Is there really a bruise? Here,” At her last word, Hermione quickly grabbed Harry by the sweater, which she found was weird since it was the middle of summer and it was sweltering; she herself was wearing a light blue tank-top and cut-off shorts; and flipped him around.

She swiftly yanked the sweater up over his head and eyed his shoulders critically. Her eyes narrowed at the unusually pale color of his skin. “Harry, are you wearing a glamour?” She asked suspiciously.

Harry’s eyes widened and he yanked away, pulling his sweater back down as he turned around to face her. “No!” He yelped, eyes blazing.

“What purpose would you have for using a glamour, Harry?” Hermione asked, ignoring his protests and eyeing him.

“I’ve told you,” Harry protested in vain as he backed away from her and nearly tumbled to the ground because of a protruding rock. “I’m not wearing a glamour!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow sternly at him. “Let me see, Harry,” She commanded, and Harry’s eyes suddenly became panicked as he backed further away from her.

“I’m not!” He cried out weakly. “I swear I’m not wearing a glamour!”

Just then, Ron popped out of his house, carrying a chessboard and a large paper bag filled with sweets. “Back!” He called out cheerily. His smile drooped a bit as he looked between his two friends. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Harry cried out at the same time that Hermione pointed a finger and accused, “He’s wearing a glamour!”

“A glamour?” Ron asked, looking at Harry questioningly.

“I’m not!” Harry yelled, glaring at Hermione angrily.

“But you’re as pale as a ghost! That’s one of the side-affects of a glamour, Harry!”

“I just haven’t gotten out much!” Harry protested as Ron looked him up and down.

“Well, mate,” Ron offered as he put the chessboard on the ground and sat with his legs crossed as he began to set up a new game. “Wearing trousers and a sweater all the time isn’t really going to help you get much of a tan.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Harry,” She began, voice softer this time. “You can tell us what’s going on. Why are you wearing a glamour?”

“Hermione, quit badgering him! I’ll bet he was locked up in his room all summer and probably hasn’t gotten out at all! And look at you, accusing him of using a glamour on his first time outside in nearly three bleeding months! Have a heart, ‘Mione!”

Hermione flushed, and Harry glared down at his shoes. “Come on, mate,” Ron cried joyously, patting the hard-packed earth across from him. Harry slumped onto the ground defeatedly, and Ron began the game first by moving one of his pawns.

…
…
…

Three hours and four Wizard’s Chess games later, Harry was staring up at the clouds wistfully, Hermione had her back pressed against a tree and her nose shoved into a book, and Ron was gorging himself with the sweets he had brought out. “You shure you dun wan’ none, ‘arry?” He asked, mouth bulging with chocolate. Harry shook his head and sighed slightly as he looked over at Hermione, who kept glancing at him every once in a while.

“I’m not wearing a glamour,” Harry denied for about the fiftieth time in the three hours he had been with the two of his friends.

“It’s not that,” Hermione said with a frown. “You seem different than you were at the party, that’s all.”

Harry blinked. “But I wasn’t at the party,” Harry said, brows furrowed in confusion.

Hermione ignored him. “You’re shorter,” She said. “And your hair’s a bit longer. Darker, too. Your eyes seem a little more…I don’t know…empty? No, that’s not the word. Hollow. Yes, that’s it. Your eyes are more hollow. And they’re a little lighter green than they were then; that’s all right, though, changing eye color is normal.” Hermione continued to list off the traits that were “different” about Harry under her breath to herself, and Harry tuned her out. He looked back up at the sky and flinched at a cloud that closely resembled a dog. He closed his eyes tightly, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

“He seems a lot more tired than usual, don’t you think?” Ron asked conversationally as he shoved a pumpkin pasty into his mouth greedily.

Hermione nodded absently, still listing off differences between the Harry now and the Harry at the party, only now she was quickly scribbling her thoughts down with a quill into a muggle journal. Ron had been rather disappointed with it when he found that the pictures within didn’t move, and had quickly lost interest in it.

Hermione was mumbling incoherently to herself and glaring every so often at Harry, before hunching back over her journal and scribbling furiously. Ron eyed her nervously as he stopped shoving mass amounts of food into his mouth for just a few moments to wonder what she was on about. This Harry was exactly the same Harry from the party!

Well, given, Ron hadn’t really paid much attention to Harry then. But he had been rather occupied with certain aspects involving Hermione’s chest to notice if Harry was acting off or not! Hell, Harry had acted off since Sirius’ death! How was Ron supposed to know what the hell was wrong with him? He had barely said a word about it at all during their sixth year.

Harry groaned and turned in his sleep, his face scrunched up as if he were in pain. Hermione looked up from her journal worriedly, and met Ron’s eyes over Harry’s body, which was beginning to gleam slightly with sweat that had started to drench his clothes unexpectedly.

Harry turned again, and Hermione sat up, pressing a hand to Harry’s sweaty forehead. “He’s burning up, Ron,” Hermione said, eyes flashing with apprehension. Ron looked longingly at his bag of sweets before kneeling before Harry, who was tossing and moaning.

“Harry? You all right, mate?” His eyes met Hermione’s once again, as Harry’s moans became intelligible words.

“No! Stop it! No! Please, no!” Harry’s eyes fluttered, but he didn’t wake.

“Harry? Harry, wake up! It’s only a dream!” Hermione shook Harry slightly as Harry’s breathing became erratic and his words faded away. Slowly, Harry began to struggle in Hermione’s arms, his legs flailing and his arms flinging themselves about wildly. He made soft little grunts and groans, but no more words were formed by his now down-turned mouth.

Harry’s struggling went on for a good five minutes, Hermione and Ron looking at each other, anxious for the moment that Harry would wake. “Harry, please wake up.” Hermione pleaded with Harry, and slowly, Harry’s struggles subsided. Hermione continued to try to soothe him with her voice, and slowly, Harry’s eyes parted.

Harry stared wide-eyed up at the clear blue sky, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. His hair was plastered to his face from his sweat, which was at this moment leaking from his body.

Hermione examined him with her eyes slowly, before hugging him tightly. “It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione comforted him, and Harry slumped into her arms in defeat. “It was only a dream.”

“All right there, Harry?” Ron asked awkwardly. Harry remained unresponsive from Hermione’s arms, and Ron blinked in confusion. “Was it about Vol…um…You-Know-Who?”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, Ron! It’s only a name!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice muffled slightly. Then she pulled away from Harry slightly, eyeing him critically. “It was about Voldemort, wasn’t it Harry?”

Harry blinked slightly as though just waking up (of course, he had all reason to be confused, as he had just woken up). “Er…yeah, Hermione,” Harry said after a bit. “It was about Voldemort.” His hand went up to his forehead and rubbed the invisible linen that was covering his newer soon-to-be-scar.

The truth of the matter was that the dream, in fact, had not been about Voldemort. And Harry no longer feared Voldemort or even Dementors as much as he now feared his own uncle.

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Harry’s Dream
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Harry had just arrived at the Weasley’s home and everything had gone off without a hitch. Hermione was chattering wildly about the upcoming school year as she sat on the foot of Ron’s bed, her hands animatedly finding their way into the conversation. Harry sat on his own bed watching Hermione talk but not really partaking in the conversation, and right before his eyes, the scene faded.

Voldemort’s face flashed before his eyes, and Harry could feel the burning feeling of his scar burning again, but seconds later, Voldemort’s face was replaced with his Uncle Vernon’s, and Harry was back in his own bedroom with Vernon looming above him menacingly.

“You’ll never escape me, boy!” Dream-Vernon shouted down at Harry, slapping his belt against his hand threateningly. Harry closed his eyes and willed it all away, but when they opened, Vernon was still stooping above him, eyes gleaming dangerously. The newly-formed wound on his forehead began to throb painfully, and blood began to leak from his forehead in gushes in rhythm with his pulse. Vernon cackled menacingly as blood spurted from Harry’s wound and covered his whole body in the warm, gooey substance.

Soon, Harry was drowning in a sea of his own blood, and Vernon was floating above it all, screaming his new mantra at the top of his lungs. “You’ll never escape me, boy! I’ll always be here! You’ll never escape me, boy! I’ll always be here! Always! You’ll never…”

The voice faded away as Harry’s eyes forced themselves to open and look up at a peacefully cloudless sky.

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End Dream
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